


concrete and steel

by therottingpizza (Vhaiada)



Category: Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Forced Masturbation, M/M, Sort Of, cloud strife dubcons himself, sephiroth implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:55:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23948761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vhaiada/pseuds/therottingpizza
Summary: Cloud pressed against the soreness, kneading at it with his knuckles before pulling up his shirt further until it was tucked under his chin. He found what he was looking for-- pale bruises where hands had been.(FFVIIR chapter 3, you know the scene)
Relationships: Cloud Strife/Cloud Strife, Sephiroth/Cloud Strife
Comments: 9
Kudos: 75





	concrete and steel

**Author's Note:**

> aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa remake looked me in the eyes i still can't believe it's real it was so good im gonna cry. how was it so good. please dont read this if you haven't seen up to chapter 3. im gonna cry. remake was so good. i can't even believe i got to click on the tag "FINAL FANTASY VII REMAKE VIDEO GAME 2020". please help me

It was concrete and steel that held an entire world above his head, bustling sidewalks and cars rumbling over metal plates and commuter trains roaring through dark tunnels. It was also concrete and steel that separated Cloud from his neighbors, who he could hear as if there were no walls at all. He could tell when Tifa got up again in the middle of the night, the creak of her mattress, the hiss and squeal of her sink. Another creak. He probably imagined the rustling of sheets as she tucked herself back in. He wondered if she'd slept at all, or if she was also lying awake and listening, just a few feet away. The street outside was never quiet, but in a way that was comforting; the shouts of the sleepless, a bark, a distant clang, sounds of a night life that faded to the back of his mind.

His bed was pushed up against a wall he shared with a man named Marco, who he had almost murdered an hour ago. Marco was not having a good night, possibly a worse night than even Cloud, and had apparently woken up again, returning to his pained groans and aimless shuffling around his small, bare living space.

Cloud slowly eased up on his knees, careful to keep the squeak of the bed frame shifting under his weight down to plausible 'tossing and turning' levels, just in case his own movements were similarly audible. He pressed his ear to the cold concrete wall and listened for Marco, but now could hear nothing. Cloud wondered if Marco had heard him, and gone silent in fear. He closed his eyes, the layout of the room next door burned into his mind from his earlier encounter. His bed was against the far wall, a simple desk in the corner, very similar to Cloud's own accommodations.

He strained so hard to listen, expecting a whisper. A laugh. A familiar voice. He'd almost prefer it, now, while he was ready. Silence.

The concrete had begun to warm under his touch, the press of his ear, his cheek, his hands through his gloves, until it shifted from body heat to something hotter. Cloud jerked away from the wall, hands tingling, but it wasn't a fire, not this time. The strange heat was inviting, welcoming him as he pressed against the wall again with his chest and forehead, seeking more of it. An image suddenly forced its way into his brain as if via ice pick to the skull: Marco was mirroring him on the other side of this wall, steel and concrete, hands by his hands. Cloud couldn't hear him anymore, but he knew this was true more than he knew his own name. 

He imagined vividly reaching through the wall, taking his hand. He wouldn't pull away this time. He'd take his hand, and they would go, together. They would go, together. They would go. 

"We'll go, together," Cloud heard himself say, a soft voice loud on bare walls. 

He fell back from the wall and landed with a thunk on the mattress, hand to his mouth. His crystal clear vision of the hooded man faded and the tingling in his fingertips subsided. He could hear him on the move again, a low sob, heavy fabric dragging the ground. Cloud stared motionless at the wall for a long while, steadying his breath before slowly lying back down to close his eyes in a tense imitation of sleep. He allowed his hand to creep back to the concrete, but the sensation was gone, painfully so, leaving a lonely chasm in its place. It wasn't a new feeling, more a reminder of something that was always there-- A frustrating ache, an old wound, a fissure beneath the lake, spewing out something toxic and filthy, always threatening to ripple the placid surface.

Now he was desperate for the noise, the jingle of gil paying for a late night meal, a cat fight, a drunken song. Tifa clicking on her light. He listened, straining for any of it, but he could hear nothing over the low roar in his ears and dull panic rising in his chest. It had been a long time since Cloud had four walls to himself, something he thought he missed. Between the barracks and cheap hotel rooms, solitude seemed hard to come by, and was more stressful than he remembered. He felt like he'd forgotten how to relax; lying down, but armored and ready to face any threat at a moment's notice. He was ready, always ready to go. Ready to fight.

Even as he took some comfort in his vigilance, the ache persisted, and he found his hand idling over the fabric where his shirt had come untucked. Without letting himself think on it too long, he pulled the fabric up the rest of the way, tugging the snug knit up over his rib cage and lifting his hips to unfasten his belt. It was possible that being perpetually ready for a fight was causing him to hallucinate certain circumstances, and it was also possible that getting a couple hours of actual sleep would ease his imagination. With a few metallic clinks, Cloud's gloves and pauldrons and belts and bangles formed a messy little pile by his pillow, and he kicked off his boots, quietly nudging them together beside his bed.

He laid back down carefully, feeling exposed. He ran his hands up over his chest, wincing when he found soreness by both his shoulders, just under his collarbone. Hands had forced him back onto the ground, hands that could not possibly have belonged to the feeble man next door. And yet, they did--they must have. Cloud pressed against the soreness, kneading at it with his knuckles before pulling up his shirt further until it was tucked under his chin. He found what he was looking for-- pale bruises where hands had been. It happened so fast, the attack lasted only a few seconds, but Cloud played it back in his mind for countless minutes. He crossed his arms over himself and lined his hands up with the bruises to mimic the feeling of being held down, replaying the moment and trying to see any one else's face besides the one burned into his memory. It was impossible-- he'd felt long hair brushing his shoulders.

Cloud shot up in bed, swiping at his arms as the sensation returned, more awake that ever. He huffed out a shaky, frustrated breath and pushed himself back down by the bruises, closing his eyes, holding himself in place as he imagined knees straddling his thighs. There was no mistake. He'd not just seen his face, he'd seen everything. He felt everything. He felt everything _except_ the ache.

Cloud kept his eyes shut tight, hands over his chest, as the sudden sensation of splayed fingers trailing down his stomach made him gasp. His hips bucked up off the bed as the strange pressure moved lower, unwavering as it slipped between his legs and settled in place. Cloud had been quite sure where his hands were, but suddenly his fingers were unzipping his pants and slipping into his underwear. He kept his eyes closed. How long had it been since he'd done this? He couldn't remember.

Without preamble, his fingers wrapped around his cock and pulled him out, exposing him to the room. He whimpered at the feeling, but only a small sound escaped him before a hand was clamped over his mouth. He kept his eyes closed. 

He thought he could still feel hands on his shoulders, holding him down firmly to the mattress, as fingers began to stroke him roughly. He twisted to the side, parted knees shifting and trying to close, but finding that he was unable to squirm away. The hand over his mouth was unwavering, making it harder to breathe as he stroked himself faster. He smelled leather, and opened his mouth to bite the hand forcing him to silence. His teeth grazed his own palm, pulling a muffled moan from him. He kept his eyes closed. 

The pressure on his shoulders, shifted, moving to his throat, and Cloud felt a new panic rising in his chest at the feeling of long fingers dipping under his collar, squeezing just enough to make his already labored breathing more difficult. He felt like he must have been clawing at the hands, trying to pull them away, but that was impossible. His hips bucked against the stroking sensation that was milking wetness from him, getting more frustrated that he couldn't get the leverage to move fully into it, or away from it. 

The hand covering his mouth finally moved away to bury in his hair and wrench his head so far back that his eyes finally shot open, revealing only the blank wall behind his head. Cloud whined, absolutely louder than he would have preferred, back arching as he stroked himself faster, painfully, trembling thighs jerking his hips fully off the bed. He yanked his head away from the hold on his hair to try and sit up. Both of Cloud's hands were wrapped around his throat, squeezing. He pulled his hands away and settled back into the bed, panting hard. He rolled to his side, hands to the wall again. Marco was there, inches away, silent. Cloud could feel him again, see him again. He wondered why this concrete and steel was keeping them apart. There was no reason they couldn't go together. They would leave here, and go, together. 

Cloud sighed shakily as the pressure returned, he did not move his hands from the wall, and yet he was touching himself again, running a hand over his knee to pull his legs apart, fingers brushing up the base of his cock as it stood against his stomach.

He pressed his mouth against the wall and groaned into the smooth surface while light, teasing touches turned more forceful. There was no one on the other side of that wall, only a dead man. Cloud knew he was dead, he had seen him die. A dead man had held him down an hour ago, a dead man who surely would have killed Cloud if he hadn't fought back. A dead man would have plunged a sword through Cloud's stomach, he thought, placing his hand over his navel. Was he feeling for a wound? He couldn't look for it, all he could see was the dead man, watching him through the wall.

Cloud tightened his fist around his erection, sobbing as he pulled the last few times and convulsed raggedly as he came, pressing hard against his stomach where he imagined a great scar had opened up and spilled what was inside of him all over the sheets. 

He lay for quite a while, maintaining eye contact with no one, until shivering overtook him and carried him out of bed. He was sure Tifa heard the squeal of his sink, the hiss of his shower, the clink of his armor being re-equipped. 

The sun was beginning to filter in, but Cloud could not remember if he had slept. 

**Author's Note:**

> aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa remake was really great. jesus christ i can't believe it really happened. did you see that shit.... i feel like im gonna die.  
> i've loved sephcloud for [redacted] amount of years but never managed to actually write for them before, and i guess technically i still haven't. but we got close huh.


End file.
